Highland Groom (17 page)

His kiss banished all concern about the time of the day from her mind. By the time he started to tug her shift down, she was so lost in her desire, she readily pulled her arms free of it. Ilsa clung to him as he followed the descent of her shift with hot kisses and strokes of his tongue. It was not until he tugged it completely off and tossed it aside that she again became aware of how much light shone into the room. When he crouched over her and she saw where he was staring, Ilsa felt as if she were blushing all the way down to her toes.

"Oh, nay," she whispered and placed her hands over her groin.

"Oh, aye," he said, clasping her hands in his and holding them captive against the bed.

She tensed with embarrassment when he kissed the inside of each of her thighs then touched his lips to the place that so ached for him. A heartbeat later embarrassment was burnt away by searing need. Ilsa freed her hands and threaded her fingers into his thick hair as she opened herself to his intimate kiss. She tried every trick she could think of to control her passion, even counting backward, so that she could savor the pleasure he gave her, but it was a losing battle. Knowing her release drew near, she tugged on his hair, eager to have him join with her. By the time he had kissed his way back up her body, she was shaking from the force of her need. He kissed her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth at the same time he joined his body to hers.

Ilsa felt herself shatter. She kissed him as if she were starved for the taste of him. She used her arms and legs to hold him close, to push him deep inside. His movements became fierce, the hard, swift thrusts of his body renewing her passion. When he groaned out her name and filled her womb with the heat of his seed, Ilsa felt herself shatter a second time. Blindly, she clung to him as he collapsed on top of her.

Unsure of how long she lay there, sated and oblivious, Ilsa slowly became aware of her surroundings. She winced at the bright rays of sunlight spilling in through the window. The sight of Diarmot sprawled on top of her was rather pleasing, but, when she recalled all they had just done, she nearly groaned.

Then she caught sight of her legs splayed out on either side of him.

"Jesu, I am still wearing my hose," she muttered.

Diarmot turned onto his side and looked her over, smiling at her blushes.

"_Ye_ look verra tempting."

Ilsa growled and turned onto her side, her back to Diarmot. She saw her shift on the floor, grabbed it, and hastily put it on. By the time she had laced it up and turned back to look at Diarmot, he had redonned his hose and shirt. Ilsa prepared herself for his abrupt leave-taking now that he had gotten what he wanted, but he stood there scowling down at what appeared to be a tattered letter. She moved across the bed to kneel at his side.

"What is that?" she asked.

For a minute, Diarmot hesitated, then sighed. She had already seen the message he had found at the cottage so there was no sense in trying to hide it again. A clever lie was beyond him at this point. In truth, he no longer believed she would try to kill him. It did not mean she was innocent of all trickery, he sternly reminded himself, but if she wanted him dead, she had had numerous occasions to accomplish the deed since coming to Clachthrom. So had her brothers, he thought, then quickly shook that thought away. _Someone wants ye dead, Diarmot,_ he reminded himself for what had to be the hundredth time, _and the Camerons are still the ones with the most to gain._ Telling Ilsa about the ruined message he had found would make no difference, either in proving her guilt or innocence, or in prompting her to change her plans in any way.

"I found this in a cottage at the western border of my lands," he replied.

"The cottage should have been empty, dirty, and showing all the other signs of several years of disuse. It did not. Decided it might be a trysting place for some pair of lovers, then found this. It was wedged between the leg of the bed and the wall." He handed the note to her.

"The wall evidently isnae completely free of leaks. Damp has made it nearly illegible."

"Aye, it has." She studied the message. "It was written by a woman."

"How can ye tell that from this mess?"

"Some words are clear enough. Tis the script a woman would use, I am certain of it. And, tis nay verra old. Though soiled and smudged, the paper shows no sign of age and the ink is still dark." She frowned at it for a moment. "Tis a love letter, I think. The greeting looks to be an endearment, as does the ending. No names, just an endearment. I can see a few words such as 'meet me,'

'must talk,' and 'taking too long.' A tryst, although the words 'growing impatient' imply all is nay weel, I should think."

Diarmot nodded and tucked the letter into a small carved box on the table by the bed. "I had hoped to find out who was using the cottage. If naught else, the place needs new tenants." He rose, selected a clean doublet and slipped it on.

"It isnae good to have an empty place upon one's lands and tis a waste to have the land sit unused."

"Mayhap ye should look for a couple who are soon to be wed, but will have to live with her family or his. Or some young couple already in such a position.

Such ones may be eager to become crofters, would be grateful for the chance."

"And their gratitude would be to their laird thus inspiring loyalty."

"Without a doubt."

Diarmot kissed her and moved to the door. "A verra good idea, wife."

Ilsa stared blindly at the door after it shut behind him. That was definitely a compliment and Diarmot had not been feeling the slightest bit lustful when he had given it. Even though he had hesitated for a telling moment, he had shared his discovery with her. Ilsa felt a stirring of hope concerning their future and she knew it would take a great deal more than lecturing herself to kill it this time.

*CHAPTER ELEVEN*

"Where is he?"

Ilsa was almost able to smile at the expression upon Tom's face, and the way he looked around a little desperately in search of a way to escape her question.

She would not allow it. Diarmot was nowhere to be found within the walls of the keep and she had to wonder why. From what she had seen as she had hunted him down, if he had gone outside the walls of Clachthrom, he had done so alone. In the three weeks since the incident at the cave, none of them had been allowed to leave Clachthrom alone.

Tom sighed. "He is out riding. Tis a fine day and he had an itch for it."

"I dinnae suppose he had an itch to take anyone with him."

"Geordie went with him."

"I just saw Geordie. He was sitting in the great hall drinking ale and talking to Peter."

"Ah, weel, he came back a wee while ago. He said the laird would be soon to follow." Tom scowled at the gates.

Ilsa wondered if Tom thought that stern expression would cause Diarmot to come running home like a good boy. She could fully understand Diarmot's need to break free of all constraints for a while. That same urge had been what had driven her to hunt him down. She had thought they could escape those constraints together. It was why she was standing there holding the reins of her mare Rose demanding Tom tell her where Diarmot was. If she had gotten another vague reply, she had intended to ride out on her own. It appeared that was exactly what she was going to do.

"What are ye doing, m'lady?" asked Tom.

"I do believe I am mounting my horse, Tom," Ilsa replied sweetly as she settled herself in the saddle, amused at how hard a blushing Tom tried not to look at her stockings before she could arrange her skirts a little more modestly. "I am going to look for my husband. Do ye have any idea where he might be riding?"

"Mayhap ye should wait, m'lady. The laird could return soon. Mayhap your brothers and Sir Nanty will return and they could ride with ye."

"My brothers and Nanty have traveled far afield this day, Tom. They may nay be back until the morrow. I dinnae think I should leave the laird wandering around by himself until then, do ye? Now, do ye ken where he might be?"

"Geordie said the laird was riding along the ridge. Some lambs have gone missing and he wanted to see if they had gotten themselves trapped or had fallen. Ye can sometimes save the pelt," Tom began, then gasped as Ilsa started to ride past him. "Ye cannae ride about on your own!"

"Verra soon I willnae be on my own," she called back to him. "I will be with my husband."

She heard Tom cursing as she rode away. She felt a brief twitch of guilt over her actions, but swiftly pushed it aside. If anyone ought to feel guilty, it was whoever put Tom in charge of manning the gates. Not only was Tom a little young and untested for such an important post, but he simply could not be threatening or authoritative. She would just have to be very careful not to be injured in any way or Tom would feel at fault.

She took a deep breath and sighed with enjoyment. She knew the air outside the gates was the same as the air inside the gates, but it seemed sweeter. Over the last few weeks she had done her best to behave, to go nowhere alone. Raised mostly by her brothers, she had always had great freedom. The fact that there seemed to be a cousin around every corner had allowed her to come and go as she pleased, safe and secure in the knowledge that no one at Dubheidland would hurt her or let harm come to her. She had also been taught when to heed orders given for the sake of her own safety, however, and she knew her brothers would not be pleased with her disobedience, no matter how much they might understand and sympathize, Ilsa hoped she could return to Clachthrom safely, with her husband at her side, preferably without her brothers discovering what she had done.

Although she was a married woman, and a mother, Sigimor would not hesitate to lecture her and she hated those lectures. Sigimor had truly mastered the art over the years.

Reaching a thick stand of trees, Ilsa slowed her pace to a cautious one.

There were a lot of very wild places on the Clachthrom lands, she realized.

Harshness and wild beauty marched side by side. The children were going to have to be carefully taught to respect the land around them and the dangers it might hold. She idly wondered if she could keep them tethered to the keep until they were twenty and laughed softly. Although she liked to move freely, she obviously did not like the thought of her children doing the same.

The unmistakable sound of clashing steel abruptly cut through the peace of the wood. Ilsa tightened her grip on the reins as she fought back the instinctive urge to gallop forward to see what was happening. One of Sigimor's most repeated lessons went through her mind and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. Caution was a person's strongest shield, her brother was fond of saying, Ilsa held tightly to that thought as she tried to decide what to do.

Since she was certain Diarmot was just ahead, that the sounds of fighting meant he was in danger, calm and caution were difficult to cling to.

She could not go racing to his rescue. Although she considered herself strong and able, she was no warrior and, at the moment, the only weapon she had was a dagger. A horse could also be a weapon, but Rose had never been trained in such skills.

Ilsa dismounted, tethered Rose to a tree branch, and began to move toward the sounds of battle. She needed to see exactly what was happening, what the enemy's strength was, before she could do anything. It would take too long to race back to Clachdirom and get help. There was always the chance that no help would be needed.

At the very edge of the wood, she caught her first sight of all she had feared. Diarmot was in a fight for his life against four men. She quickly sprawled on her stomach on the ground and peered around a knot of brambles growing at the base of a tree. Unless the men ran into the wood, she felt sure they would not see her.

Every part of her tensed with the need to race to Diarmot's aid, but, despite the icy fear that she was about to witness her husband's murder, Ilsa held fast.

Her sudden appearance might well serve to distract the men attacking Diarmot, but it could also dangerously distract her husband as well. Worse, she could easily fall into the hands of Diarmot's foes and become just another weapon to use against him. Yet, to do nothing seemed wrong.

Ilsa decided charging the group on Rose was her only choice. She was good with her dagger, very good, and felt sure she could take down at least one man with it. Even Sigimor liked to brag about her keen eye in throwing her dagger.

She would just have to hope Diarmot would be quick to take advantage of the distraction she caused.

Just as she started to move, all hope of saving Diarmot was lost. Ilsa pressed her fists against her mouth to stop herself from screaming as Diarmot disappeared off the edge. Her whole body shook with the need to move, to run to the place where Diarmot had fallen, but she stayed hidden, watching her husband's murderers through tear-filled eyes.

Forcing herself to concentrate, Ilsa studied each man as he stood there peering over the edge of the ridge. As the men argued the wisdom of lingering long enough to make sure Diarmot was dead, she fixed their images in her mind.

She also studied their horses, fighting to recall all the little ways Tait had told her how to distinguish one horse from another beside their color and size.

Ilsa was determined that these men would be hunted down and brought to justice.

After a futile attempt to catch Diarmot's horse Challenger, the men rode away, but Ilsa still did not move. She needed to be sure the men would not return, would not suddenly decide they did need to make sure they had killed Diarmot. Ilsa realized she was also terrified to see that Diarmot was truly dead, broken upon the rocks, and that this was not just some horrible nightmare.

When she finally moved, her whole body ached and she realized how tensely she had held herself as she had fought her need to run to her husband. She finally began to move, each step easier than the last, and went to get her horse. As she led Rose toward the ridge, she discovered she had lost all urge to run. She did not want to view her husband's body; she wanted to race back to Clachthrom and send someone else to do it. Ilsa took several deep breaths and beat down her fear and grief. This was her duty as Diarmot's wife.